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Copyrighted, 1921. by 
Louisville & Nashville Railroad Co. 



The eight tales, on pages 5 to 56 inclusive, are from the pen oj 

Vic Calver, compiled by the Tourist Welcome Club 

of Mobile, the gateway to the Gulf Coast. 



.ABl'JSU 



JUL -I i32i 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Mobile, the Heart of the Storied South 5 

The Shining Towers of El Dorado 12 

In the Shadow of Fort St. Louis 19 

In the King's Name 27 

The Heart of Tuscaloosa 35 

Madame La Vergne Smiles 41 

The Last Slave 47 

An Epic of the Sea 52 

Modern Mobile 57 

The Gulf Coast 59 

En Route to Mobile 62 



Romances of Mobile 



By Vic Calve r 



Wrapt in a mantle of sunshine, fringed by a silver sea. 

Glowing with flower and blossom, hard by the river' 
mouth, 
City of song and story, romance and chivalry. 

Lies Mobile in its glory. Queen of the Golden South. 

— Songs of the Gulf 




FOREWORD 
MOBILE, THE HEART OF THE STORIED SOUTH 

When the Great Jehovah flung the world, flaming and new 
made, from His almighty hand, the richest elements of Nature 
were fused and gathered in the glowing spot destined, after 
long ages of evolution, to mark the Land of Dixie. For this 
divinely favored Empire of Flowers the Creator reserved the 
softest, gentlest breezes and the balmiest zephyrs. Its myriads 
of blooms, rioting by the banks of rippling streams and decking 
the deep green of its woodlands, are painted with the richest 
colors from the eternal laboratory. The deep crimson in the 
heart of the rose flames against the dazzling white of the lily, 
and the warm pink of the carnation shames the evening sunset, 



while the blue of the violet and the mignonette reflect in their 
blossoms the glory of the Southern heavens. Mother Nature, 
with loving skill, lined the forests with the vivid yet restful 
green of the tropics and set around the feet of soaring trees 
soft beds of delicate fern, as rare and beautiful as Venetian 
lace. The languorous air is perfumed as from an unseen censer, 
flooded from craggy hilltop to glistening strand with the 
exquisite aroma of the magnolia. 

In that primal day the Great Designer struck the eternal 
hills with His wand and from their rocky heart gushed a million 
springs of purest water, laughing their joyous way over 
granite causeways, tossing their spray in murmuring channels 
lined with pearly shell, broadening out into placid streams 
amid the smiling meadows, and mingling in a great river 
system sweeping grandly on into the bosom of the Gulf of 
Mexico. Watered with the Tears of God, the land blooms 
like a garden and over all the great domain broods the spirit 
of peace, glorified with the loveliest art of Nature and cloaked 
in a sheen of ardent sunlight. 

In the sweeping dome of the heavens the Almighty has set 
His brightest coronets. Against the purple arch of the mid- 
night skies, He has draped sunbursts of dazzling stars; great 
orbs swing high in their immeasurable orbits, planets march in 
stately grandeur across the blue, a silver moon sheds its soft 
effulgence over all the land, clothing it in mystic light, while 
great stars set in the velvet cloth of night flame their brilliance 
across infinities of space. A Southern night is one of Nature's 
masterpieces, a hint of the stupendous beauty of the Celestial 
Realm, a peep beyond the great white Gates of Eternity. 

Leaving the coast line of this kingdom of charm. He has 
spread the broad breast of the mighty Gulf, the noblest body 
of water on the globe, stretching out to the burning Tropics 
like a magic carpet. Its tremendous waters, as profoundly 
deep as the rolling sea, comprise a marine dominion linking 
the temperate and torrid zones, the broad highway to the 
equator, the watery trail over which travel the argosies of the 
world. Like jewels on its azure surface flash the greater and 
lesser Antilles. Over its archaean bed rolls a flood that was 
here at the dawn of creation and into its whispering waters 



juts the Peninsula of Yucatan, with ruins older than the 
Pyramids of Egypt, where crumble mute evidences of a 
civilization that was colonized from the shores of the lost 
Continent of Atlantis. It is the watery band that binds 
dominant and modern Columbia to the Land of the Latin and 
the Lotus Eaters, the neutral territory between two worlds, 
the dividing line of the Kingdom of Boreas and the Empire of 
the Sun. 

Like some rarely beautiful jewel, blazing in a gorgeous 
setting, lies Mobile, the Heart and Center of the Storied 
South, the great natural gateway to the Tropic Lands that 
lie beyond the Gulf. Here in the early days came the questing 
Spanish conquistador, seeking the fountain of youth and fabled 
cities whose domes were plated with ruddy gold and whose 
towers flashed with richest gems. Here came the sturdy 
French voyageur to found a new empire under the lilies of 
France. To this spot adventured the hardy Anglo-Saxon to 
plant the banner of St. George in an overseas dominion. Here 
flourished the flower of Southern chivalry, loyal gentlemen 
unafraid, who drew their swords in the ill-fated emprise of the 
Lost Cause and fought and died gallantly withal. And here is 
arising in the light of a brighter and happier day the New 
South, rich in resource beyond the dreams of avarice, beautiful 
as a Garden of Eden, a Paradise of the New World, incom- 
parable and serene. 

Where the busy streets of Mobile now hum with life was 
once the virgin wilderness, trodden alone by the moccasined 
foot of the Chickasaw, the Creek and the Alibamon, the 
velvet paw of the panther, the delicate foot of the deer, and 
the steel claws of ranging Bruin. Then the great forests of 
the littoral swung down in an unbroken flood from the foot of 
the Appalachian Chain to the very waters of the Gulf. Here 
the Spaniard clad in mail penetrated the greenwood, hoping 
to see arise above its fronded foliage the spires of El Dorado. 
Here the Sieur de Bienville founded his first city long before 
New Orleans had risen from the marsh, and the flashing axes 
of his men cut the logs of Fort St. Louis from the primal 
forest before the first settlement arose on the banks of the 
Father of Waters. 



Past the very doorsteps of Mobile sweeps the second largest 
river system in the country, draining the richest agricultural 
empire in the world. Its waters murmur through villages and 
towns that are forever linked with the annals of the first 
settlers, the crest of the waters flowing by the queen city of 
them all— Mobile, famed in song and story, where broods to 
this day the very soul and spirit of the Southland. Here is 
the Heart of Dixie. 

The shady streets of the city have echoed to the tread of 
armed hosts and the clash of steel. The waters of its bay have 
hung heavy with the smoke of battling armadas, split with 
flame and lit with the spirit of death. Its quiet homes, 
nestled beneath spreading trees, have been the scenes of 
brilliant functions, on whose polished floors bewigged and 
powdered gallants have stepped the measures of the stately 
minuet. In its council halls matters of great pith and moment 
have been decided, forming foundation stones of the Law 
in this new land. Here was planted the Cross by the reverent 
teachers of that early day and the savage Indian taught to 
desert the worship of his heathen gods of wood and stream 
and to bow to the one and only Great Spirit. Here were 
conceived great voyages which led to wondrous discoveries. 
On this riotously luxuriant coast was nested the lairs of swash- 
bucklers and buccaneers who ravished the Spanish Main, and 
in the old byways of Mobile many a terrible plot was hatched 
that afterward flamed into fearsome action far to the South 
over the rolling waters. Here the first sword in the Great 
Rebellion flashed in the morning sunlight and here the last 
Southern blade was sheathed in the face of overwhelming 
odds and the mandates of an immutable fate. 

Hearts are warm in the South and nowhere do they burn 
with a more ardent flame than in Mobile. It is a city of ro- 
mance, where the dreamy spirit of Love and the militant soul 
of Adventure have ever gone hand in hand, gaily plotting the 
lives and loves of its gallant sons and its glowingly beautiful 
daughters. Even the speech of its people is softened to a 
melodious cadence, the harsh gutturals of the North dis- 
appearing in the delicious Southern drawl that beautifies the 
mother tongue and enriches it with a velvety emollescence. 



Lying beside the murmuring waters of the Gulf, Mobile 
epitomizes the Spirit of Dixie. 

He who seeks surcease from the stern, forbidding grandeur 
of the North, with its crested peaks of rock, its mantles of 
snow, its relentless winters, its penetrating cold, its icy breath, 
and its gaunt sterility during the winter solstice, may find a 
smiling garden at the end of a brief journey in eternally sunny 
Mobile. From its portals radiate steel ribbons whose tentacles 
tie it to every section of the nation. In any city of the United 
States one may purchase a ticket to the Gulf City. From its 
water gate sail great vessels, floating hostelries that cut their 
way through the green depths to every portion of the globe. 
And around it lies a sportsman's paradise, a fisherman's dream 
of delight. Here the artist will find numerous beauties for his 
brushes, the sculptor masterful subjects for his marble, the 
poet inspiration for his roundelays, and the tourist delectable 
scenes, warm hospitality, quaint customs and lively compan- 
ionship, the material for tales to be told in after years in the 
flickering light of Northern firesides. 

While winter holds the North tight in its grip of sleet and 
ice and snow, and its rivers are sheeted with the frozen plates 
of the Polar King, here in Mobile — Mother of the Mardi Gras 
in America, where first was celebrated the beautiful old 
European Feast of Fat Tuesday — is celebrated the Carnival 
season. Gay knights, decked in silken hose and cloaked in 
brocaded satin and velvet, and lovely ladies, garbed in soft 
draperies with roses in their hair, do honor to King Felix and 
his alluring Queen. No ice field bars the passage of ths royal 
yacht in its voyage from the Elysian Fields to the Port of 
Mobile. It cleaves its way through warm and placid waters 
to its sunny berth. No stern February blast withers the blooms 
on milady's breast; she gaily trips abroad in sunlight and 
mellow weather. From flowered carriage and motor car, 
from azalea decked float and blooming stage, the ladies of 
Mobile pelt the smiling throngs with buds and blossoms. 
Through the streets of the city surge the maskers, laughing, 
jostling good-naturedly, making merry in a carnival spirit; 
and over all shines the ardent Southern sun. 



On Mobile Nature has set her every sign and seal to give 
assurance to mankind that here is prepared a place for his 
residence. Free from the frigid gusts of the North, far removed 
from the withering blight of equatorial heat, Mobile lies in a 
magic zone twixt the two, where it is always springtime and 
life is at its best. It is indeed a land where Romance has made 
her home and where her delicate touch appears in all the 
affairs of its lovable and hospitable people. 

In the following pages will be found some small account of 
how Romance has figured in the life of the city in the dim 
past, a few brief episodes that are woven of more fact than 
fancy, a blending of legend and cold truth, yet which are so 
deliciously at variance with the commonplace and the customs 
of a practical world as to seem the imagery of a poet's vision. 
The same sprightly spirit that warmed the heart of the lovely 
belles and gallant adventurers of Mobile in the Long Ago 
burns high in the breasts of its people today. Gone is the 
court sword, the powdered wig, the duello, the Sir Roger de 
Coverly, the minuet, the plumed chapeau and the graceful 
cloak; gone is the crinoline, the ruffled lace collar and the 
beauty spot that marked the cheek of the Southern belle, but 
it is merely a change of habit, a slightly differing garb. Beneath 
the tailor-made gown and the dun and unattractive cloth of 
modern costume beat the same high hearts and surges the 
same spirit and hot current of courage that made Mobile in 
its early days indeed the City of Romance and the Tourney 
Ground of Debonair Adventure. 

To you in the North, the East or the West, whose eye 
may scan these pages, is extended a cordial invitation to come 
and see us in the South. You may be sure of a warm welcome, 
a gracious courtesy and a real Southern hospitality. When 
next you plan a journey into new scenes take up the open road 
that leads into Dixie and view the loveliness of her broad 
acres, her forested hills, her rippling streams, and the beauties 
of her Gulf-washed coast. And having looked upon Dixie and 
Dixie's heart, which lies "Way Down Mobile," you will forever 
thereafter love her and seek her out again and again. Mobile 
beckons to you, brothers and fellow citizens of the nation, and 
bids you "Come!" 




Royal Street, Mobile 




■ 1. '■ k 

liliriillj 




Cawthon Hotel, Mobile 




THE SHINING TOWERS OF EL DORADO 

Beyond the shore, behind the wood, 

Fast locked from prying eyes, 
Sir Juan beheld a city fair 

Where golden towers arise. 

— Songs of the Gulf 



Anxiously the mail-clad figure in the bow of the Spanish 
caravel scanned the long, low coast, now veiled in a roaring 
curtain of shoreward hurrying breakers. The great, clumsy 
sails had been lowered, yet the blunt-prowed vessel sped along 
at racing speed before the rush of a September gale. It was 
the close of a windy, blustery day at sea in the year of grace 
1519, and now with the swift approach of night the tempest 
was rising. The unknown coast was a fearsome place, where 
nameless terrors lurked, and it was plain to the daring little 
band aboard, that shelter must soon be found or, with the 
passing of the storm, the bones of the caravel would strew the 
virgin strand. 

Another and heavier figure, also in armor, joined the anxious 
watcher who peered out into the murk over the smoking spray 
that leaped from the forefoot of the laboring boat. 

"God's mercy, Juan, an' we find not safe anchorage eftsoons, 
we will have small need of it, " quoth the stouter man. 



"Nay, not so, good my lord," replied the slighter of the two. 
"With your Excellency aboard and the prayers of Carmelita 
rising from a Spanish fireside, naught but fair fortune can 
attend us. What saith our capitan?" 

"Naught, my good Juan, save to aver that we are the 
first in all the world to brave this western gulf. He tells his 
beads i' the cabin what time he be not cursing the crew." 

"Natheless will we win to harbor, my Lord Pineda, and I — 
ah — I shall some soon day behold the bright vision of my 
dreams." 

Darker grew the face of the waters and louder shrieked the 
gale as it sung through the taut rigging. 

"Look, my lord!" howled Juan de Venturas into the close- 
held ear of his excellency, Don Candelario Pineda, leader of 
this small expedition, sent out by Garay, then the Spanish 
governor of Jamaica. "Yonder methinks there is a break in 
the surf. Ho, Capitan! To me! To me!" 

There was a rush of feet and a half score of hurrying 
figures swept to the bow. "What seest thou, Sir Juan?" 
roared the Capitan, stamping to his side. 

"A haven an' mine eyes betray me not," quoth Juan. 
"Look you, on the starboard bow, Capitan. Is there not open 
water beyond?" 

"By Our Lady, it is God's truth," shouted the seaman. 
"A passage! A passage! We must brave it, lead where it will! 
Ho, you carrion! " he continued to the huddling sailors. "Set 
the helm to starboard. " And thereafter came hurrying orders 
of nautical import, interspersed with strange and curious 
oaths such as the early captains in Spanish ships had coined 
on many a far-flung sea. 

Slowly the lumbering vessel obeyed the helm, and snoring 
through the water, at last made way past what was some day 
to be known as Dauphin Island and into the comparatively 
quiet waters of Mobile Bay. In the lee of the island the caravel 
cast anchor and rode out the storm. With the coming of 
dawn, the sun arose over a sparkling, placid bay, fringed with 
the fresh green of the forest to the very water's edge at times, 
here broken by a stretch of golden sand, there by the but- 
tresses of tall, red cliffs. 



Silently the little band knelt on the wet decks and thanked 
God for deliverance, and Don Candelario, in reverent and 
grateful mood, influenced by the religious zeal that charac- 
terized the fierce warriors of Spain, named the bay Espiritu 
Santo, a name which it was to bear through a century of 
silence in New World history, until another adventurous soul, 
this time from France, was to rename it Mobile. 

Cautiously feeling its way, the caravel swung up the bay, 
nosing out the channel that led to the river above. Juan de 
Venturas, his heart bounding with the optimism of youth, 
was impatient to get ashore. And, indeed, no less so was Don 
Candelario, though his reserved manner betrayed it not. 
At last, in the early afternoon, a small boat put out from the 
caravel and the first ashore was Juan, leaping from the boat 
ere it touched the sand and wading through the water, and 
thus was he the first of the white conquerors from beyond the 
rolling Atlantic to set his foot on Alabama soil. 

Juan, intent on gaining a solid footing, had kept his eyes 
on the shining shingle a few feet before his eyes, when he was 
arrested by a shout from Don Candelario, who followed close 
behind. 

"Hold, Juan! On guard! Cast thine eyes upward and to 
the fore!" And Juan, looking up, saw the greenwood part and 
a stately Indian, gay in feathered headdress, approaching. 
The savage, with a dignified gesture, held his hand aloft in a 
signal that means the wide world over "1 come in peace." 
The boat's crew crowded ashore, surrounding their leaders. 
The Indian slowly approached. In sign language the Spaniards 
made it known that their errand was not hostile, at which 
the savage raised a shout and from the wood that lined the 
shore emerged a great company of braves, who bravely 
inspected these strangers, with fair white skin, the like of 
which they had never beheld before. 

"Ha! Don Candelario!" shouted Juan, his young eyes lit 
with the fires of hope, "behold the outposts of El Dorado. 
Those woods but mask the way that leads to treasure and the 
heart of Carmelita. The legends speak sooth — here, here, in 
this new world will we find at last the smiling gardens and the 
vaults of jewels." 



Beyond the strip of woods lay a great village, where the 
conquistadores were treated with marked respect, and for 
forty days Don Candelario lingered by the beautiful bay, 
careening his vessel, the while his men mapped the shore. 
During these days the voyageurs ascended the river for miles, 
early finding the Indian capital of Maubila. Then, having 
learned all that might be and claiming the land for Spain, 
Don Candelario gave orders that on the morrow the caravel 
hoist sail and tempt again the heaving waters of the Gulf. 

Not so Juan. Night after night in a castle in far Castile, 
he had poured over old chronicles, being taught the mystery 
of letters by a monk, which was a rare accomplishment among 
the gallants of Spain and one that gained him place with this 
expedition overseas. In these narratives was set forth the 
story of the fabled El Dorado, a mystic land of fabulous wealth, 
where the streets were paved with gold and the towers of the 
city flashed with a million rare and precious gems. This he 
hoped to find in the new land on which he had set foot. With 
treasure trove here acquired, Juan, a youth of good family 
albeit fallen in fortune, could return to Spain and openly 
court the Lady Carmelita, upon whom many rich suitors cast 
envious eyes. Juan was set in his purpose to remain. 

Despite argument, threats, cajolery, promises, all means 
brought to bear by Don Candelario and his companions, Juan 
determined to remain, and when commanded to embark, in 
open revolt, fled into the forest. The Indians were friendly 
enough and, he argued, when he had been enticed back to the 
shore, he would completely gain their confidence and they 
would at last lead him to El Dorado, the existence of which 
he was firmly convinced and to which he held the Indians 
knew the key. Thus it happed that on a sunny day the 
Spaniards set sail, leaving many things for Juan's comfort 
and promising to return anon. 

Alas, when Juan waved his mailed hand to them over a 
glistening tract of water, as the caravel swept seaward, it was 
the last they were ever to see of Juan or he of them. Laughing 
he turned toward the greenwood, which swallowed him up, 
and no white man ever beheld Juan de Venturas again. First 
of the Spaniards to set foot on the soil of Alabama, he left 



his bones to whiten in its hills. The Great Silence which 
envelops Alabama history like a cloak for a century subse- 
quent, folded him in its wings and his fate is but a legend 
told at Indian firesides. 

Years afterward De Soto with his merciless conquistadores 
swept over the land, returning evil for good, sacking Maubila, 
the capital of the Emperor Tuscaloosa, breaking the heart of 
the splendid savage, scattering his people and wrecking his 
empire of the wilderness. At the sack of Maubila, when the 
Spaniards counted an hundred of their dead on the field as 
the price they paid for victory, an Indian captive exhibited 
to the grim Spanish chief a coat of mail, a silken doublet, a 
Toledo blade and a battered casque. 

Said the Indian: "Had thy soldiers been such men as 
was the wearer of these a hundred Spanish warriors would 
not have died this day nor the Emperor Tuscaloosa gone to 
the bosom of the Great Spirit." 

Fiercely pressed for an explanation of these reminders of a 
Spanish warrior, the Indian recounted: 

"I had the tale from my father. Many years ago the first 
of the Spaniards came in a great boat from out the Big Waters 
on which my people have never dared to venture. We called 
this one, who stayed among us, after the rest had sailed into 
the west, Gleaming Beetle, because of his strange armor 
which was hard and bright, as you see, like the armor of a 
beetle. He was a man, not such as thou and thy butchers. 
He was brave, generous, but sought to teach of a new god, 
of which we would have none, yet we left him to worship as 
he would in peace. In his words were truth, even as those 
of our Emperor, whom ye have betrayed. He taught us many 
things and with him brought healing ointments and simples 
of great power. He was as one of us and all respected and 
honored him despite his pale skin. 

"Ever he pressed us for what he held was our secret — the 
trail to a land of rich pebbles and yellow metal, which he 
called El Dorado, asking that we lead him thither. And no 
man knew of what he prattled ceaselessly. For months he 
sought to make us talk of that which we knew not. Ever and 
anon he would take the trail into the forest and our scouts 



would come upon him on some high hill to the north, gazing 
anxiously into the distance for a glimpse of the shining towers 
of which he spoke. Nothing could abate his faith. And at 
last we believed that he had been touched of the Great Spirit 
and saw visions not of earth. As was the custom in our tribe, for 
this we but honored him the more. In all things else was he 
as other men, but this humor of his brain we could not allay. 

"Gleaming Beetle was skilled in warlike strategy and taught 
us much that enabled us to prevail over our enemies. He 
built for us cunning stockades, taught us to throw firebrands, 
to charge in order and to ambush an enemy in a manner that 
was as new to us as to them. In time he was made a chief 
and led us in many a fray far to the north. At such times and 
at our head he would charge shouting: 'Santiago! Santiago!' 

"Once on the reaches of the river above Maubila, when we 
were sore beset, an arrow found a rent in his armor and he was 
stricken of a great wound. For weeks he lingered in my 
father's tepee, but the fever would not break. At the close 
of a day when the sky was aflame in the west he asked that 
he be placed without, where he could look into the eye of the 
declining sun. And thus, saith my father, he spoke as the 
rays of the sun bathed him with a garment of fire: 

" 'Carmelita, at last I behold the shining towers of El 
Dorado! Rest thou sweetly, beloved. Tomorrow 1 will reach 
them, then ho, for Spain and thee !' 1 1 was the fever tearing him 
and burning his brain, said my father, so that he saw a vision 
which to him was real, or mayhap the Great Spirit showed 
unto him those things which mortal eye may not behold. 

"Then, raising his weakened arms to the sun, he cried: 
*E1 Dorado! El Dorado! 1 see thy towers! 1 come!' And 
then the Great Spirit swept him to His bosom. Thus passed 
Gleaming Beetle and these be his possessions." 



An idle tale, say you? But an Indian legend? Perhaps — - 
yet it may easily be so. In an Alabama mansion rests to this 
day the sword, the coat of mail, the battered casque. If Juan 
be not nor ever was, then the tale of Juan at least typifies the 



ardent, imaginative, daring conquistador of Spain. And it 
may well be so that the first of these to press the soil of 
Alabama died as did Juan de Venturas, seeking the Shining 
Towers of El Dorado! 




Battle House, Mobile 



18 




IN THE SHADOW OF FORT ST. LOUIS 

Nor locks, nor bars, nor voice of grim authority 

May serve to daunt the daring heart of youth; 

One god — Dan Cupid — rules by vast majority — 

Lords may command, but Love will win, forsooth. 

■ — Songs of the Gulf 



Lieutenant Henri Francois Carbonel was plainly ill at ease 
and in an evil frame of mind. His usually good-natured, 
bonny countenance was darkened by a most forbidding frown 
and he gazed out over a bastion of the new Fort St. Louis, 
set in an Alabama wilderness for the glory of France, with a 
rebellious look that ill beset so brave and loyal an officer of 
the King. Before his eyes swept the brown waters of the 
Mobile River, lapping the piling of the outer stockade, while 
back of him the ground swept upward to a hill. To his left 
lay a stretch of marsh, while on his right could be caught a 
glimpse of Mobile Bay over the shoulder of Choctaw Point. 

"Zounds!" he muttered, gnawing a verdant moustache, 
which he twirled the while fiercely. "Am I not of an age to 
know my mind? Do I require a nurse to see that I stray not 
abroad and meet disaster?" And he struck the bastion of the 
fort with his fist and spoke aloud: "I will not. I will not 
obey." 



"How now!" spoke a merry voice behind him. "What 
terrible strait has brought our good Henri to such gloomy 
visage? And what is it that thou wilt not do and whom is it 
thou wilt not obey?" 

"Nay, Valligny," answered Henri, glancing around, startled 
and confused. "I did but jest. I mean it not. I am sore 
distrait. I am — " And he sighed most prodigiously. 

"Thou art in ill humor. And thy hat is sadly awry. And 
thy face is that of a man hoping for death. Thou hast a 
malady that is universal and tragic, but sweet withal. In 
fine, my good Henri, thou art in love." Thus answered Louis 
Villigny, a comrade in arms and a lieutenant of the line also, 
laughing the while and poking Henri in his ribs. "Is Celeste, 
then, unkind, my comrade?" 

"No, no!" replied Henri, with emotion. "She is the 
loveliest and sweetest of all the women in the world — " 

"No doubt, no doubt." 

"Of all the women in the world, yet 1 must not marry her!' 

"Not marry her, quotha!" exclaimed Valligny. "Where- 
fore?" 

"That is to say, not marry her — just yet." 

"Ah, just yet. And who hath so decreed?" 

"The Sieur de Bienville," cried Henri, hopelessly. "Hehath 
told me: 'Wait; 1 have other things for thee. Love must 
bide while duty calls.' And then he looked at me with those 
stern eyes and when I would question him, told me to hold 
my peace. It is outrageous." 

"Say not so, good Henri," said his comrade. "Whate'er 
the Sieur designs is good and to the honor of France and all 
Frenchmen in this far station. Which reminds me, I have a 
message for thee from the commander. He bids thee wait 
upon him in his private chamber and at once forthwith." 

"Ah," replied Henri. "Now, perchance, 1 may know what 
moves him to bar me from happiness. Au revoir, Louis; I 
attend the Sieur." 

As Henri strode with clanking sword toward the military 
headquarters of Fort St. Louis he raised his eyes from the 
ground, where he had held them in gloomy conjecture, and 
as he looked about his woebegone countenance broke forth 



20 



into a boyish smile. And the reason for this was almost upon 
him — a rare and radiant maiden, sweet as a lily of France and 
dainty as a piece of Dresden china. 

"Whither away, Henri" she laughed, as she joined him, and 
her eyes were pools of tenderness. "And how dost thou like 
my new bodice? Is it not pretty?" 

"Burlap would look well on thee, precious one," said Henri, 
gallantly. "Good wine needs no bush, and you stand not in 
need of satin nor silk nor velvet to be comely. Ah, Celeste! 
1 have evil news." 

"What is it, Henri? Are the Indians restless?" 

"No, worse. Far worse. I would that were all." 

"Worse, say you? Tell me quickly, Henri!" 

"The Sieur de Bienville hath commanded that we shall 
not marry." 

"Shall not marry? Ah, Holy Mother befriend! Why not?" 

"That is to say — not yet." 

"And wherefore — not yet?" 

"I know not," replied Henri, lugubriously. "I am even now 
commanded to the presence of Bienville, and mayhap I may 
learn." 

"Then I will go with thee and learn also." 

"Nay, Celeste. He will not permit. He is stern and hard 
and cold and he may chide thee, and that I could not abide." 

"With his soldiers he enforces discipline. Yet with the 
women he is ever tender. He will not chide, Henri. I prithee, 
let me go." 

"Very well," agreed Henri. "But I fear me he will be 
wroth." 

A guard at the door passed them and in a moment they 
stood in the presence of the great Frenchman who had the 
vision to found a colony in a savage wilderness and to keep it 
against Spaniard and Briton and Indian for France. 

It was in the Fall of the year 1710. The original Fort St. 
Louis, miles up the river, had been almost totally wrecked 
by a great overflow of the Alabama, and the French had decided 
to move to a place nearer the bay, the site of the present Mobile. 
For a year past great trees had been felled, logs trimmed 
and set, cannon dragged over the marshes, and where once 



21 



the water murmured among the reeds and the sedge now 
arose the strong walls of the new fort, the great stockade which 
was to be the nucleus of a new empire, the embryo of a city 
that was to reflect in time the culture and chivalry and 
gorgeous pomp of the court of Louis XIV. And in this new 
land Bienville's voice was the voice of Louis, and he who 
disobeyed the Sieur disobeyed his king. 

It was a strong face that Lieutenant Carbonal and Celeste 
Gravier looked upon, a face that was moulded to command, 
to direct, to lead, a face that men would trust and follow, 
even unto death. Firm lips, a rather large Roman nose, a 
high forehead, with stern eyes set wide apart, crowned with a 
magisterial wig of snow. And yet there was a kindly gleam 
in the deep eyes, a benevolence half hidden by austerity. 
One would say, looking upon Bienville, "Here is both a war- 
rior and a priest." 

When the twain entered the room, Bienville arose with 
courtly grace and set a chair for Celeste. 

"Be seated. Mademoiselle Gravier. It is well you are here. 
And thou, Henri, attend. Know you at the beginning that 
I am distressed that your marriage with Mademoiselle 
Gravier, of which I heartily approve, must wait. But France 
calls you and you must obey." 

Lieutenant Carbonel bowed. "I am content," he replied, 
"but may I not serve her as well married as single?" 

"No," said Bienville, "because you must leave the fort and 
thy journey is not one to be undertaken by a maid." 

"Leave?" cried both Henri and Celeste in a breath. "Leave 
the fort?" 

"Even so," replied the great colonizer. "I have news from 
my couriers that the Spaniards at Pensacola have sown dis- 
content among the Choctaws and they waver in their alle- 
giance to France. I must set a man I may trust over them. 
It is a dangerous and a delicate mission, and not one where a 
wife may aid. I have selected thee, Carbonel, because I 
know thee to be loyal and brave. Success will mean for thee 
promotion. At dawn thou and a score of lusty fellows will set 
forth and visit the Choctaws at Dog River. There must 
you abide until I recall thee. Here are your orders, sealed. 



22 



Open them when you arrive in the camp of the Choctaw 
chief." 

"I thank thee, my lord, for this confidence, and will, of 
course, obey." said Henri. Then turning to Celeste: '*Ah, 
sweetheart, it is France that calls. Fear not; I will return 
and claim thee anon." 

"Spoken like a soldier," exclaimed Bienville, rising and 
giving Henri his hand. "Forgive me, mademoiselle, for rob- 
bing you of your happiness; it is not irretrievably gone — 
merely reserved for a happier time." 

With a nod he dismissed them, and they departed, very 
sorrowful, hand in hand, but content as it was for France. 

The next morning Henri set forth with his men. It was 
just at dawn. At noon the alarm bell clashed out its summons 
and the people gathered at the fort. Celeste, dainty, charming 
Celeste had disappeared. 



"No word of this must go forward to Lieutenant Carbonel," 
was the strict order of Bienville. "Search!" And search they 
did, in the marshes, in the forest, over the hills to the west 
and down the shore. But naught was learned of Celeste. 
And there was one in the village that smiled and was hopeful 
through it all. It was the good cure, Pere Antoine. 

Weeks passed and so careful were the people to obey the 
Sieur de Bienville that although messages were carried back 
and forth from the Choctaw encampment to the fort, no man 
had breathed a word of Celestes disappearance to Henri. The 
winter came on with its sharp winds and ever the reports from 
the Choctaw village sent by Carbonel grew more hopeful and 
optimistic. The Spaniards had been outwitted. The Indians 
remained loyal. Henri was well, as were the men. There had 
been no disturbance. 

Then came rumors to Bienville's ears that his favorite 
lieutenant had committed the unforgivable crime. He had 
married an Indian, or, at least, one abode within his tent. 
Bienville was at first amazed and refused to believe. Then 
exceedingly wroth. 



23 



"Send for Carbonel," quoth Bienville. And Carbonel came. 
Bienville frowned upon him. "Are these things true?" he 
asked. 

"That I am married? Yes, my lord," replied the lieutenant, 
calmly. 

"And thou, a gentleman of France, thou — mated to a 
savage?" 

"Nay, I said not so," replied Henri. 

"Then to whom, pray? And where is thy faith, thy plighted 
word? Dost know that Celeste, thy betrothed, disappeared 
months since?" 

"1 knew it, my lord," said Henri, "and it is well. Had 
Celeste not disappeared the Indian and the Spaniard would 
have been hammering at the gates of Fort Louis long ere this." 

"You speak in riddles," quoth the Sieur. "Explain, sirrah, 
1 charge thee." 

"My lord Bienville," said Henri, dropping on one knee in 
supplication, "forgive a youth and a maid. French blood is 
warm and judgment travels not with youth. Bear with me 
but a moment." Then going to the door he led in a young 
woman clad in all the panoply of a forest savage, moccasined, 
blanketed, and with dark braids as Indian girls wear draping 
her shoulders in glory. Bienville started from his seat amazed. 
"Hold, my lord!" cried Henri. "It is Celeste!" 

"Celeste!" he cried, astonishment, anger and relief mingled 
in his voice. "Celeste!" 

"It was my fault, my lord," said Henri. 

"Not so," said the pseudo-Indian maid, who was indeed 
Celeste. "It was my plotting that did it. I prevailed on the 
good cure, who is ever tender of heart, to assist me, my lord, 
and when Henri and his men left the fort the cure and I 
traveled on their trail — I as an Indian girl. None questioned 
Pere Antoine. When Henri reached the Choctaw camp, lo, I 
followed closely, and the good father. Henri was very angry, 
but I know of ways to prevail over him whate'er his mood. 
And then there was Father Antoine. And thus were we wed. 
Forgive us." 

"And," broke in Henri, "where all my arguments were of 
no avail and when the Spaniards would have out-planned me, 



24 



it was Celeste who always won the day. She has not only 
brought me happiness but she has served France." 

"And they have taken me into the tribe," said Celeste, 
proudly, "1 am a — ah — blood sister to them all." 

**Ah," said Bienville finally, after burying his head in 
thought. "You have both disobeyed me and must be pun- 
ished." Then his eyes grew tender. "Yet 1 am indeed glad to 
behold thee again. Mademoiselle." 

"Not Mademoiselle, my lord," remarked Celeste, with 
sprightly air. "Madame Carbonel an' it please you." 

"Ah, yes, pardon; I stand corrected. Now to the punish- 
ment. Lieutenant Carbonel, come hither. Kneel. Art not 
ashamed?" 

"Aye, my lord, but strangely happy for a rebel." 

"Then rise." And as the Sieur de Bienville touched his 
shoulder it was an accolade. "Here is thy commission as a 
Captain of the French overseas legion. With its duties you 
will find it punishment enow. On Celeste 1 will be even 
harder. Come, madam, husband or no, and kiss me." 



A simple tale and one not meriting suspicion. Yet it took 
high courage in those old days to cross the will of Bienville. 
To those who may doubt this little story it may be said that 
there is a quiet home in Springhill where one of the family 
treasures is an old ivory casket, and in it, among other faded 
things, is a marriage certificate in French, bearing the names 
of Henri Francois Carbonel and Celeste Gravier. The 
witnesses to the instrument are most curious. A rude drawing 
of a deer stricken with an arrow and a burning brand, the 
signatures of the savage witnesses, Deerslayer and The Fire- 
maker, of the Choctaw tribe. 



25 







Bienville Square, Mobile 




Launching One of the Ships Built in Mobile 



26 




IN THE KING'S NAME! 

For who dare censure a maiden's pride 
When love plays a game with Fate! 

Love of country is naught beside 

The clear, high call of her mate. 

Latin or Saxon, if he be bold. 

She is his own to have and hold. 

— Songs of the Gulf 

Constance Manon Hazuer looked across the candle lit table 
bright with white napery and shining silverware, sparkling 
with crystal and groaning under the weight of good fare, and 
decided that she despised Thomas Brady, her father's guest. 
Tom, debonair and mildly enthused with rare wine, returned 
the gaze but in his blue eyes was nothing but frank admiration. 
It was a pleasant evening in the spring of 1763, and through 
the long French windows came the breath of Southern magno- 
lias and the pungent spice of pines. 

News had just arrived in the old French capital of Mobile 
of the signing of the Treaty of Paris and the colonial stronghold 
of Louis breathlessly awaited its fate. It was known that 
George of England desired peace, while his great minister, 
Pitt, urged a war with Spain. Out of the hurly-burly of 
negotiations Mobile would emerge the spoil of one or the other 
— which? Britain or Spain? 



27 



"As I was saying, Monsieur Thomas," Constance heard her 
father murmuring in his repressed baritone, "the small mer- 
chant is but a pawn in this game of kings. He gives his all for 
la patria and she repays by leaving him to his fate and the 
mercy of the conqueror." 

Monsieur Raymond Hazuer was a kindly soul, once unques- 
tionably handsome, but his aged face held a haunting weakness, 
not effeminate but lacking the quality of decision. He was more 
trader than warrior by instinct and training, too prone to 
agree for patriotism, yet diplomatic in the extreme. He loved 
France as much as may any colonist who has spent most of 
his years abroad, but to his heart his country made no 
definite, paramount appeal. Constance, on the other hand, 
was a born partisan, alive with the spirit of patriotism which 
she inherited from her Gascon mother. Her chestnut hair 
crowned a face that was at once gentle and alluring, yet 
marked with a certain resolution that her father's lacked. 
She was a brightly beautiful girl, pausing just now on the 
threshold of womanhood. At the moment she was much 
displeased both with her father and his guest. 

Tom Brady, on the other hand, was new from England 
and as insular as the average Londoner. He was faintly 
conscious of the fact that there were other countries lying 
outside English shores, but he regarded them all impartially 
as prospective colonies of the Empire. In a word, Tom was 
hopelessly British. For this Constance felt quite certain in 
her heart that it was her duty to hate him cordially. 

"But, monsieur," said Tom, with fine British assurance, 
"in this case the conqueror will be a gentleman, not a blood- 
thirsty Spaniard. The English are the fairest men in the world, 
and their assumption of government in Mobile will greatly 
aid the city in every way." 

"And what makes Monsieur Brady so certain the English 
flag," said Constance, with a grimace at the word, "will 
wave over Mobile?" 

"Ah, of that 1 am certain," replied Tom. "His Majesty, 
King George, desires it, and what the king wants that will he 
take and hold." 



"There be rumors," said Constance, with evident huge 
satisfaction, "that this wondrous king of yours is hard put to 
it to hold his colonies in America." 

"That, mademoiselle," replied Tom, flushing, "is the gossip 
of fools, whose wish is father to the thought." 

"I am charmed with your frankness," said Constance, 
with rising spirit, her eyes flashing danger signals. Tom 
thought her inexpressibly lovely in her annoyance. 

"Tut, tut, Constance," interposed M. Hazeur. "Monsieur 
Tom meant no offense. You will please recall he is our guest." 

"Which in this case," replied Constance, "is synonymous 
with conqueror, as he has just so candidly informed us. Rest 
assured that 1, at least, will never salute the flag of England." 

With this Constance arose, plainly angry. Monsieur 
Hazeur was noticeably troubled. Tom was distinctly distressed, 
repenting his hasty tongue. The gentlemen arose and bowed 
as Constance, with head erect, swept from the room. 

"Heed her not," said the old man; "she is but a child. I 
crave your pardon, monsieur. Let us discuss business. 1 
believe that England will win to Mobile and I am therefore 
anxious to secure a London connection. Your father's firm is 
responsible and I would have arranged to trade ere this had 
politics permitted. Let us review the possibilities." 

The elder Brady was a manufacturer of cloth who dealt 
largely with the American colonies and Tom had been sent 
abroad to secure new connections for the house. This was 
his mission in Mobile. It was a time of great stress and unrest, 
anxiety and deferred hope, and there was little love lost 
'twixt the English and French. Tom's mission was not exactly 
a primrose pathway. In M. Hazeur he perceived a man of 
discretion and unbiased judgment. And he was not unaware of 
the charms of mademoiselle. Thus he had been content to 
linger in Mobile, ravishingly beautiful in its springtime dress 
of flowers and blossoms. 

Several weeks flew by and Tom and Constance were thrown 
much together, each day being marked by passages-at-arms 
between them, their national viewpoints being as widely 



29 



divergent as the poles. Despite this daily contention, however, 
Tom was soon hopelessly in love with Constance, yet amazed 
that she should so tenaciously hold fast to her prejudices 
against all things English. 

For her part, Constance refused to own even to herself to 
any tender feeling, although she was conscious of a genuine 
liking for the fresh, manly English boy, with his impetuous 
but narrow opinions and his engaging frankness. Tom had 
little use for diplomacy, even in love, which he regarded as a 
dodging of issues. His methods lacked finesse; were, in fact, 
disconcertingly direct. So this was the reason for his approach- 
ing Constance one morning in the sunlit garden, blazing with 
azaleas, resolved to acquaint her with two leading facts. The 
first of these he delivered, without preamble, as follows: 

"Mademoiselle, there is a ship in the harbor sailing for 
Pensacola on the tide. 1 am going aboard at sunset." 

The girl started, flushed, and then replied: "I am indeed 
sorry to see you go, monsieur. 1 was just beginning to harbor 
the opinion that even an Englishmanmayhavehisadvantages." 

"1 am most pleased," said Tom, "that 1 have found even 
this small favor in your eyes. But 1 have further news, 
tremendously important news. 1 am desperately and hope- 
lessly in love, mademoiselle." 

"How strange," murmured Constance. "1 had imagined 
the passion foreign to your race." 

"Indeed, no," warmly returned Tom. "The English can 
love as ardently as any Frank. And I — ah — 1 am a most 
amazing lover, Constance." 

"You astonish me! 1 thought your heart was forever 
bound up in cloth and contracts." 

"And the lady that I adore," continued Tom, "is the 
loveliest woman in all America. I would cheerfully die for 
her. There is nothing 1 would not do to please her." Then 
he cannily added: "Within reason." 

"Ah yes. Within reason. There spoke the Briton. When 
a Frenchman loves he has no reason. He is magnificently 
insane. Is the lady English, this paragon whom you adore?" 

"Alas, no. She is obstinately yet deliciously French. Ah, 
Constance, you know — you must know — it is you I love. I 



30 



am the most miserable of men. Won't you make me im- 
measurably happy?" 

"Now here is a pretty mess," said Constance, with a wholly 
detached air, like one assaying a problem in trigonometry. 
"A Briton loves a French maid who is deliciously French. 
Here we have a self-confessed conqueror who sues for favor. 
Truly a paradox. What will you do when the Spaniard 
arrives?" But her glance was tender, albeit mischievous. 

"He will not arrive," said Tom, with sturdy faith. "The 
English flag will fly over Mobile ere Yuletide. And I shall be 
here to uncover and cheer when it unfolds." 

"Then if you be so sure, 1 will answer you when the standard 
is unfurled. Make your boast good. Come to me in the 
king's name. I may treat with a conqueror for terms, but 
never with an idle boaster. " 

"Constance!" 

"Au revoir, monsieur, and bon voyage." And with a swish 
of skirts Constance was gone. Nor did he see her when he 
set out for the boat. He fancied he glimpsed her peeping 
from a window, but when he looked again he could not be 
sure. So, very despondently he sailed away. Looking back 
at the city, over a moonlit trail of water, as the boat swung 
out on the tide, he suddenly straightened and muttered: "By 
jove! I'll do it! " 



On October 20th, of the same year, Constance Hazeur 
awoke to find the city in a turmoil. Martial music swelled 
through the window of her chamber, which stood wide, as 
the day was balmy. The tramp of marching hosts came to her 
on the morning air. A bugle shrilled in the distance. A horse 
clattered by. The low voice of the multitude buzzed and 
hummed in her ears as she made her toilet. When she des- 
scended to breakfast her father met her at the foot of the 
stair. 

"It has come, Constance," he said, relief quavering in his 
voice. "The English are here. Ah, you see, 1 was right to 
treat with Monsieur Brady." 



31 



Constance was hardly enthusiastic, but she had in a measure 
prepared herself for this inevitable event, the shadow of which 
had preceded its arrival. She patted her father's cheek. 

"At least, mon pere," she said, saucily, but with no lack of 
respect, "none can doubt your judgment, whatever they may 
say of your loyalty. " 

"I am not disloyal," replied the old man, indignantly. 
"But who am 1 to fly in the face of fate? I cannot fight 
England alone! Come, Constance, daughter, let us be good 
losers." 

Out in the square there was gathered a great concourse of 
people, jostling, laughing, in holiday attire. It did not look 
like a surrender; rather was it a fiesta. "One would think it 
Mardi Gras," thought Constance. Above the square on a stout 
pole swung the standard bearing the lilies of France. There was 
a burst of music and down the street leading into the square 
marched a gay body of Highlanders, their feathered caps 
winking in the sun, their tartans a bright splash of color against 
the more sombre garb of the people lining the way. High and 
clear the bagpipes shrilled their stirring melody, the pipers 
skirling away for dear life. Amid a crescendo of martial 
music the waving lilies of France rippled out in a last streaming 
ribbon to the breeze, were dipped in salute and came down the 
staff on a run. But a moment and a small knot of darker 
color flew to the pole head and then broke out into the red 
banner of St. George and merry England. One trooper, 
resplendent in Highland costume, was tugging manfully at 
the rope that swung the English flag aloft. There was some- 
thing familiar in the set of the shoulders, a trick of holding 
the head. Constance pressed closer, her heart a triphammer, 
her cheeks aflame. 

"Ah me!" breathed Constance, leaning heavily on her 
father's arm. 

"As 1 live," cried M, Hazeur, "it is Brady!" 

Just then Tom's merry face was turned toward them and 
he perceived what he afterward described as the loveliest 
vision in the New World — Constance Hazeur, the glory of 
unsullied youth in her face, gazing with startled eyes at the 
standard of England, as though, he added, in adoration. 



32 



"I have kept my word," he cried, as he made his way toward 
them through the press. "Am I now an idle boaster?" But 
Constance had fled. 

Later, however, he came upon her in the garden where 
he had said farewell. This time she did not flee. In her wide 
eyes was the light of willing, glad surrender. 

"Constance," he said, holding forth arms that fairly ached 
for their sweet task. "Constance, as you bade me, I come in 
the king's name! What is my answer?" 

"Ah, monsieur," replied the girl, staying him with half- 
raised arm, holding fast to her maiden freedom for one last 
breathless instant, "when the great Louis surrenders, what 
may a mere maid do save emulate the example of her 
monarch?" 

"Then have I also conquered in the empire of your heart, 
little lass?" asked Tom softly. 

"It is a rather pretty flag after all," she murmured and the 
bonny brown head was buried on Tom's shoulder. To Tom 
the sky flamed with a new glory, the earth broke up into 
paradise, a choir of angel voices sang in his soul. The con- 
queror had indeed come into his own. 



Proof is not lacking of this little affair of the heart, this 
romance of national differences sunk in a rose pool of love. 
It was one of the very first of the long list of international 
marriages that was one day to give to America the name 
Melting Pot of the World. It will be observed, by way of 
substantiation, that while there are no Hazeurs in Mobile, 
there are many Bradys. 



33 




A Mobile Residence Surrounded by Azaleas in Full Bloom 




A Residence Subdivision in Mobile 



34 




THE HEART OF TUSCALOOSA 

The Spaniard was strong and clad in steel; 

His heart was stout, but it could not feel 
The mercy that comes from God. 
The Indian's lips bore never a lie; 

His heart was stout and he could but die 
Like a man on his native sod. 

— Songs of the Gulf 

On a beautiful October day in 1 540, a Spaniard, who had 
laid aside his mail on a couch of panther skins, was seated on 
a rough stool in a richly caparisoned tent, above which floated 
to the air the banner of Spain. He was of comely countenance, 
albeit there were cruel lines about his mouth and his chin was 
like a craggy rock. The eyes, too, held little of pity or mercy 
in them, but were full and intelligent, bearing out the promise 
of the broad, high forehead. 

At the entrance to the tent stood a steel clad figure, on 
guard, bearing in his hand a long pike and at his side a wicked 
looking sword. 

"Ho, guard!" shouted he who was within, "go quickly to 
my Captain Villenueva and say to him that Hernando de 
Soto would have speech with him and at once." 



35 



The figure of the guard disappeared down a leafy recess 
and shortly returned with a graceful youth, richly dressed in 
silks that bore the trace of exposure to wind and weather. 

"My lord," he said, doffing his plumed hat and saluting, 
"what would you with me?" 

"Is all prepared, my Manuel?" quoth De Soto, for it was 
Hernando De Soto, already famous for his adventures and 
accomplishments in Peru, who after a rest in Spain had quested 
forth again seeking new ventures in an unknown land. 

"The men are ready to march and the horses are packed," 
replied Manuel. 

"Then see to it that we move within the hour. And thou, 
don thy armor, stripling, lest some savage rob thee of life 
with one of their accursed arrows, the saints protect us!" 

"I have sent a herald forth to the chief of the Indian city 
to bid him prepare for our coming," replied Manuel, "and to 
set everything in due order as is mete for thy reception." 

"Enough," said De Soto. "I will join thee in short space." 

Tents were struck, amid the neighing of horses and the 
rude oaths of the soldiery, and the steel-clad train set forth 
into the forest, flankers ahead, followed by De Soto, Villenueva 
and other captains and officers who fared with him into this 
unknown wild. For perhaps an hour they passed through a 
rude trail, o'er which till a few days since no foot save that 
of Tuscaloosa's warriors had ever passed. 

A cry from ahead and the flankers came to rest at the edge 
of a large savannah, in the midst of which rose the Indian 
capital of Tuscaloosa, the citadel of the greatest warrior of 
his time in all the stretches of what was some day to be the 
sovereign state of Alabama. 

In the center of the cluster of buildings and wigwams was a 
large square, and on a mound at its upper end, on a sort of 
piazza, sat Tuscaloosa, surrounded by his red warriors, almost 
naked, but decked as to headgear with the plumes of rare 
birds. Gathered in this space were the people of the powerful 
tribe, the men well to the front, the women on tiptoe to the 
rear, holding their papooses and stretching their necks with 
eager curiosity. Through this assemblage a wide lane was 
laid open, no warrior daring to cross the imaginary line set by 



36 



Tuscaloosa. A drum began to beat, and the people stood as 
graven images, bronze and immovable, as De Soto, a trifle in 
advance, led his captains, all of them mounted on fine horses 
to the foot of the mound. 

Though no warrior flinched or moved a hair's breadth from 
his place, yet involuntary tremors shook their limbs as a 
horse would brush near. To these warriors the horse was an 
object of supreme terror, their like never having been seen or 
even told of in the legends of the race. That the men and 
horses were one they truly believed, and crafty De Soto, 
knowing this, permitted none to dismount for several minutes, 
looking the while from his mount roundabout with the eye of 
a conqueror and the mien of a sovereign. 

A sturdy captain, long in the wilds, and familiar with the 
sonorous tongue of the Alibamons, spurred his horse to the 
side of De Soto, and addressed the warrior chieftain. 

"Great chief," he said, "much honor is done you this day, 
for powerful as thou art, yet a mightier has deigned to visit 
thee. Behold the great lord and unconquerable knight of 
Spain, Hernando De Soto, who would talk with thee through 
these, my lips." 

Tuscaloosa wore a coif about his head, while a mantle of 
brilliant feathers reached to his feet. His special emblem of 
authority was a sort of umbrella, bearing a white cross on a 
black field. He did not deign to rise for De Soto, of which fact 
the great explorer made sinister note, but spoke him fair. 

"Welcome to Atahachi, my chief city," boomed the voice 
of Tuscaloosa. "And may the Great Spirit lead thee to be as 
just and generous to me and mine as we to thee and thine." 

Whereupon De Soto gave the signal to dismount, and 
much was the wonderment when the warriors observed that 
men and horses were not indeed a single animal. 

With slim grace then danced the maidens of the village to 
delight the distinguished visitors, while food was brought and 
served on broad leaves. Through all this the interpreter, for 
De Soto, questioned the chieftain as to the surrounding 
country, the numbers of his people and sites of his cities. 
Tuscaloosa, although he fain would have kept silence, thought 
it better policy to answer, and this he did with truth and 



37 



accuracy, so that in time De Soto had a fair idea of his strength 
and resources, which were indeed overwhelming. Yet so 
dauntless was the heart of De Soto, so arrogant and confident 
his nature, that after he learned all he would know, he com- 
manded his men to mount and drive the people back. As the 
horses plunged toward the crowd the Indians gave way in 
terror, and then De Soto set his hand upon the person of 
Tuscaloosa, and arrogantly placed him in arrest. 

Stupified by this treatment of the chieftain they thought 
under the direct protection of the Great Manitou, the Indians 
suffered this outrage, and De Soto set forth for his camp carry- 
ing with him Tuscaloosa and some of his bodyguard. 

A few days later when De Soto had the chieftain into his 
tent for further questioning, the chief remained silent, but in 
his eyes were sullen lighting and the muscles of his great 
chest heaved with emotion. At last, with a gesture that was 
supremely majestic, he raised his hand for silence and said 
to the interpreter: 

"Lend thy mean and miserable ear, fellow, to the words of 
Tuscaloosa. Tell thy merciless and conscienceless commander 
that, throwing aside honor as of little worth and breaking his 
pledged and knightly word as a reed, he has put an affront 
upon me that the Great Spirit will avenge. For within the 
present moon, many of those who come up out of the great 
deep to snare me and my people, will lie weltering in their own 
blood at the gates of Maubila. I may pass, but there be others, 
as numerous as the leaves of the forest, and these will take, 
for each insult he hath offered to me, a Spanish life. Now 
march to the south, as it is written thou must, where fate 
awaits thee with open, red hands, ready for thy throats. 1 
have spoken. It is my last word. Let me go to the place 
set aside for me in peace." 

No threat of torture could move Tuscaloosa after this, 
and at last the Spaniards, perceiving he would rather die than 
speak, gave over and bound him and set him in a secure place 
within the camp, with guards about armed with lance and 
.sword. And through all this Tuscaloosa laid him down 
to rest and slept like a child. Such was the great heart of 



38 



Tuscaloosa. Though it crack with grief at the misfortunes of 
his people, yet would he give no sign. 



And so it happened that De Soto, in order to join Maldonado, 
as Tuscaloosa had foretold, marched southward, and a few 
days later, at the gates of Maubila, many of his knights and 
gentlemen fell beneath the arrows of the Indians, until half 
his force was gone and many of his horses stretched on the 
plain by the swift-flowing Alabama River. 

"Alas," quoth De Soto, as he stood upon his sword and 
surveyed the stricken field, noting here a friend of his youth 
stretched in death, and there another in agony transfixed 
by a feathered dart, "alas, 1 am a broken man. 1 should have 
kept the faith. Jesu Cristo, forgive! I am indeed sorely 
punished for my fault. Bid them set free this chieftain, 
Tuscaloosa, and let him depart in peace. And tell him that 
he is a greater man than I." 

And Tuscaloosa, when he was freed, giving no sign of 
gratitude for freedom, silent, having spoken no word since 
that night in the tent, went forth into the wilderness, the 
last seen of him his waving plumes mingling like a splash of 
crimson blood with the greenwood that swallowed him. 



There is an antique strongbox, bound with rusted iron, 
with old Spanish characters on a plate that are nearly inde- 
cipherable on its lid, that is a treasured possession of a proud 
family of Mobile, who trace their ancestry to the Spanish 
conquistadores. If you can prevail upon the haughty owner 
of this box to open it, which is quite unlikely, therein you 
will see a ragged piece of cloth, with a white cross on a field 
of black. It is the badge of kingship which once was Tusca- 
loosa's. Pinned to it is a fragment of parchment, yellowed 
with age, inscribed on which in Spanish are the words: 
"Treasure it well. It belonged to the bravest man I ever 
knew. Hernando De Soto." 




One of the Attractive Park Playgrounds in Mobile 




Loading Cotton at the Municipal Wharf, Mobile 



40 




MADAME LA VERGNE SMILES 

Passion is not alone to be met 

In the steely gaze of hate, 
With eye of fire and jaw grim set 

Like the frowning face of Fate; 
But lurks sometimes behind a mask, 

A mask that is but a wile, 
A tool to fashion a horrid task, 

And the tool is oft a smile. 

— Songs of the Gulf 

Madame La Vergne stood at the broad doors of her draw- 
ing-room one summer night in 1832. The mansion occupied a 
large plot of ground, surrounded by a garden on the site of 
what had once been the outer bastions of Fort St. Louis. 
Through the long French windows, which were open to the 
garden, there floated the fragrance of jasmine and magnolia 
and the scent of sweet grass. 

The madame was a sumptuous figure, arrayed like the 
grand dames of those old days, when pride of house and 
family and stoutness and worth of heart were more largely 
esteemed than riches. It was a period when Chivalry was 
making its last stand against the assaults of Greed and 
Avarice. There were men in those days, aye, and women, 
too — men and women who held life lightly if their honor 
be at stake. 



41 



The madame, a woman of that ripe age when the hand of 
time but has dignified a wondrous grace that was the gift of 
her full-blown, ripe womanhood, was receiving. Famous for 
her salons in the South, where dignitaries oft wondered at 
her sage remarks, and instinctively laid bare their secrets to 
her, her drawing room was the rallying point for all the wit, 
beauty and wealth of the country roundabout, filled with 
rich plantations, whose fruits were brought to the port of 
Mobile by great puffing steamers and slow-moving barges. 

The Gaul and the Saxon, the swart Spaniard, the Colonial 
of every rank, welcomed a bidding to Madame La Vergne's. It 
was a badge of honor, and this night every nation whose sons 
had fashioned the land to what it was from the wilderness 
it had been, was represented by the goodly company which 
the Madame greeted as each entered her doorway. 

There was a Stout, rotund governor, a man of full port and 
tremendous dignity, a sprightly lieutenant of horse, a sagacious 
man of the law, a student of profound subjects, who was 
somewhat of a bore at times, several planters who owned 
broad acres by the thousands and hundreds of slaves to do 
their bidding. There was a rising young physician and a wise 
and ancient judge, a merchant, a patron of the arts, a writer 
of distinction. All these and more, with their ladies and 
families, but each one of which had in some manner arrived 
at sufficient distinction to be a guest of Madame La Vergne. 

Now the Madame was of the aristocratic type of France 
and her forebears had carried the oriflamme on many a battle- 
field when England and France were at grips and knighthood 
was in flower. And in her heart there burned as steadily as in 
the breast of Joan of Arc a great and overwhelming love for 
France. This she veiled for politic reasons, as she was not 
a woman who wore her heart on the sleeve of her gown. But 
when should one ever speak slightingly of France, she marked 
it well. No longer did such a one enjoy her hospitality and 
when occasion served, and she saw her way, she would bring 
matters to such a pass through the exercise of her wit and 
her influence, that dire misfortune would overwhelm he or 
she who had lost favor in her regal eyes. 



42 



Now the young lieutenant of horse came of EngHsh stock 
and was mightily proud of it, while the young physician was 
of an old French family, descended from the sturdy voyageurs 
who were among the first to penetrate the woods of Alabama. 
So, as the evening wore on, with music and dancing and gentle 
converse, it chanced that Lieutenant Wilfred Carrollton and 
Dr. Armand Lecoyne fell into conversation with the Madame, 
where she sat in a quiet corner, the holy of holies of her court. 
Matters seemly for such a company were discussed, art, 
poetry, literature, the progress of the times, the growth of 
the country, the news of rich argosies just arrived from over 
seas, and finally ancient battles and famous warriors. 

Now the lieutenant was of sturdy frame, broad of chest 
and lithe of limb, while the doctor was slight and almost frail. 
But in discussion he was quite the equal of the lieutenant, 
and more polished in discourse, ever preserving a courteous 
manner and speech, while the lieutenant was more or less 
given to what closely approached the bombastic. He sang 
the praises of Merrie England and showed scant interest in 
the warrior tales of France. All of which was most displeasing 
to the Madame, who had ceased to smile, and whose eyes 
lost their charming glow in a sombre gloom half veiled by 
long lashes. 

"The English have ever been conquerors," said the lieu- 
tenant. "The flag of St. George flies around the globe. It 
has been planted from the Arctic to the Antarctic Circle and 
it belts the tropics as does the equator itself." 

"Ah, yes, quite true," replied Dr. Lecoyne, "yet 1 think 
you will agree that the French also have produced men of 
valor." 

"Every nation has exhibited such, but they are exceptions 
rather than the rule, while in England the man who is not at 
heart a lion and a man of mettle is the exception." 

This was an unfortunate speech and the Madame marked 
him down as her prey. Sooner or later he would feel the 
weight of her delicate hand, which was mightier at times, 
much mightier than one which bore a broadsword. Yet she 
was pleased to but listen and said naught. Dr. Lecoyne 
flushed to the hair, but the lieutenant gazed at him with 



43 



amusement. He knew his shaft had gone home and gloried in 
his strength to injure and come away unscathed. 

"The Heutenant is hardly fair," replied Armand. "In my 
own family there have been many notable evidences of courage, 
and among my ancestors were men whom even kings have 
been pleased to call friend." 

"Ah, perhaps," replied the lieutenant, who had probably 
drank a little too much wine at dinner, which is famous for 
setting foolish tongues to wagging. "But — ah, well — I 
imagine things have changed in your family since those days. 

My friend, yours is not the frame of a fighter, and it 
will be your life's work to mend such as I when wounded and 
to stick ever with your pills and physics." 

"Were it not that the Madame is present, lieutenant, I 
should be of a mind to challenge the truth of that statement." 

The other laughed. "My good Armand, please don't be 
ridiculous," he said. "When I need you I will have you 
patch me up, but as for your taking offense at what 1 said, 
that would be folly for you." 

At this point the Madame intervened. "Children, children, 
it is not good custom to quarrel. It is a sorry welcome to 
hospitality. I pray you cease and have with me a stroll in 
the moonlight." 

"No sooner said than done," replied Lieutenant Carrollton. 
And he offered the Madame his arm, who strangely enough, 
failed to see it, but took that of Dr. Lecoyne. 

The martial tone of the lieutenant soon melted under the 
pleasant converse of Madame, as they walked about the 
garden amid the smell of roses and magnolias. Lieutenant 
Carrollton complained of a slight headache, which was simple 
of explanation — he had dined too well. Madame proposed 
they have a glass of wine, and Dr. Lecoyne offered to prescribe. 
Drawing from his pocket a vial filled with an amber fluid he 
offered it to Lieutenant Carrollton and advised ten drops 
before retiring. 

"Let me see your physic, doctor," said the Madame, and 
she went nearer the light. No one but God saw her fumble 



44 



in her breast, but when the bottle went back to the lieutenant 
the amber had turned to green. 



The following day, about the hour of noon, a gentleman 
called on Madame and in the course of talk mentioned the 
quick and sad death of Lieutenant Carrollton. He had gone 
to bed and his servant found him stark in the morning. 
But he did not know that Dr. Lecoyne had looked at the 
bottle, and noted the changed color of its contents, and then, 
after having smelt of it, had hidden it securely in a well, and 
muttered "God forgive her, but how she loves France!" 

When the caller had departed Madame went to the window, 
and as she stood there in the sunlight, the glitter and somber- 
ness left her eyes. She looked back into the room where a 
great picture of Joan of Arc stood over the mantle. "She 
would have done no less for France," said the Madame. 

Then, once more, she smiled. 

A yellowed letter addressed to Dr. Armand Lecoyne in the 
hand of Madame La Vergne, which was delivered to him after 
her death, was found among the doctor's effects when he, in 
turn, had given up the ghost. But he who now possesses it 
is not prone to show it to strangers. 




Shipping Scene from Mobile Water Front 



45 




New Country Club, Mobile 




At one of the Resorts on the East Shore of Mobile Bay—Highest Point of 
Land on the Coast between Norfolk and Galveston 




THE LAST SLAVE 



'Neath an Afric moon, in a jungle green, 
Poteet first heard a panther scream, 

Clasped to his mother's breast. 
As a man he fought with savage might. 
Knowing no difference 'twixt Wrong and Right 

But fought his level best. 
Conquered, he found himself a slave 

And felt the sting of the rod, 
But Fate, which swept him over the wave, 

Gave him a glimpse of God. 
So out of Evil, Good may rise 
And the soul of a slave attain the skies. 

— Songs of the Gulf 

It was a black night in Africa, but the moon was due to 
rise within an hour. Poteet, the son of the chief of the village, 
with some warriors of his tribe, all as black as the night 
itself, held watch over the sleeping village. Often they peered 
into the blackness of the bush and listened with ready assegais 
for the slightest sound. A lion would roar somewhere in the 
jungle afar off, there would be the cry of some wild thing as 
it gave up its life to a night prowler. Not a sound from the 
jungle save these. 

With all its silvery grandeur the moon peeped over a 
mountain, and poured its effulgence on the village. Still no 
sound. Poteet fingered the charms he wore at his neck. An 
uneasiness possessed him. The subtle intuition of the savage 



taught him danger was near, but he could not tell from which 
direction it might come. 

For a space after the moon arose even the animals of the 
jungle were silent. It seemed as if all Africa must be asleep. 
Then came the deluge. 

With a blood-curdling shout a full two hundred naked 
warriors broke cover, hurling spears as they came. Two of 
Poteet's men fell before they came to grips with the invaders. 
The village was aroused and poured from its mud huts by 
scores. But the surprise was too complete. Many were 
spared by the black foragers, but they well knew what it 
meant, and several preferred to die, which they did by knife 
and assegai, hurtling themselves into eternity in preference 
to the slavery that awaited them if they lived. 

Disarmed and surrounded, Poteet saw his father's house 
sacked, as was the rest of the village, and the old men, includ- 
ing his chieftain father, killed before his eyes. Then the march 
began, which was to last for many weary days until the caval- 
cade had reached the coast, where dwelt the fierce tribe who 
made it a business of enslaving their black brethren and selling 
them to whites who came in great ships and gave many beads 
and mirrors and bright calicos for all they could deliver who 
were young and strong — both men and women. Poteet, with 
others, was put into a stockade, where he had a weary time of 
it for many weeks. 

Another night, just as the moon rose, a long, low, swift 
ship, with sails flapping as it hove to, anchored off the coast. 
Poteet, through a chink in the stockade, could see a boat put 
off, which showed a light. Another answered from the shore. 
Then the boat was beached on a sandy strip where the jungle 
could not find a foothold. After this some men, white and 
therefore more to be feared than any wild beast, came into 
the stockade and looked over its inmates as the black man 
would examine cattle for which he bartered. After this they 
departed and all night long there was revelry in the coast 
village. Square-faced gin flowed like water and every man and 
woman of the tribe bore many curious ornaments on their 
persons brought them by the all-powerful whites and given in 
exchange for the slaves within the stockade. 



48 



The next morning, shackled with irons brought from the 
ship, Poteet and a full hundred of his companions, some of 
his own tribe and others captured before, were marched down 
to the ship and whipped into the hold. After this it was plain 
hell — darkness, wormy food, rats, sickness, lashes on the back, 
and death stalked among them. When one would die, others 
would be compelled to bring him on deck and throw the body 
into the sea. And ever they sailed westward, to what Poteet 
often wondered, and wished that he might die. But he was 
too strong, too young. Death was not to be his portion. 

For weeks and weeks the vessel ploughed westward, until 
one night Poteet heard the rattle of chains and knew they had 
come to a halt. For a time there was silence. Then without 
the slightest warning the voice of a six-pounder sounded on the 
night air. It was the first gun Poteet had ever heard and he 
felt quite sure some of the devils of his savage worship had 
arrived on the scene. 

Then came shouts, more clamping of chains, curses, and a 
rattle of musketry. Once more the ship got under way, and 
finally a shot came into the hold and made an end of many, 
while it wounded many more. Then there was a cry of fire, 
the ship scraped along the bottom, and at last, with a shout 
of delight, the blacks saw the hatchway open and rough voices 
bade them hurry above. Shackled, they waded through water 
and landed in a wooded country, from where they were 
driven by whips into the interior. Glancing fearfully back 
over their shoulders they could see the ship they had just 
quitted in flames. 

Thus came Poteet into Mobile Bay, the last man to leave 
the ship and the last slave to be brought from the west coast 
of Africa by the demons who were known as blackbirders. 
The great law of the land had reached forth its hand to savage 
Africa and forever stopped the atrocious trade in human 
souls. 

Now Poteet had been greatly in love with a dusky maiden 
of his own tribe and been unable to note whether she was 
taken with the storming party or not, as the males were 
separated from the women both ashore and aboard. What 
was his delight then, when they at last arrived the next 



49 



morning in a large market place, to behold his black sweet- 
heart among the women there set on display. But alas for 
Poteet. He went on the block and was sold to a planter in the 
neighborhood, while his woman was bought by a planter who 
lived far to the north, "sold up river." 

Poteet's strong young shoulders labored thereafter in the 
cotton fields, and gradually he began to forget his sweetheart. 
There were others, and Poteet took one of them. Marriages 
were very lax among blacks at that time. Years passed and 
Poteet would only occasionally recall the woman of Africa 
who had been his star, but always with sadness. 

Then one day came a great shock. The war was on, and he 
heard of how the whites were fighting among themselves over 
the question of slavery. Those up river, fearing invasion, 
sold their slaves in the south, and planters near the gulf drove 
sharp and lucrative bargains in human flesh. A new levee 
arrived at Poteet's plantation, and behold, among them was 
his sweetheart, grown, it is true, somewhat stout, but to his 
black vision as comely, if not comelier, than of yore, when they 
loved in the African jungle. 

So Poteet, with the simplicity of procedure which marked 
his race, told his wife to seek another cabin, as her successor 
had arrived. And he took his sweetheart to his bosom and his 
home. 

So after many years, parted in the jungles of another con- 
tinent, Poteet was united with his heart's desire in the valleys 
of Alabama. And who shall say his heart, covered though it 
be with a skin that was as a raven's wing, did not feel all the 
glory and the power of love with as potent a sense of appre- 
ciation as his whiter brethren who lived by his labor, held him 
a slave, and whipped him when they list. 

All this was very satisfactory to the owner of Poteet, as 
there were many promising pickaninnies and his family grew 
apace, each one of them representing more dollars than many 
bales of cotton would bring. 

Then the roar of the guns drew nearer, and finally one day 
Poteet and his wife gained their freedom. "Glory Hallelujah!" 
they shouted, and then, after they got this long-wished-for 
freedom, they wondered what they would do with it. Poteet 



50 



decided he would have none of it, and so did the wife of 
Poteet. Although the master was broken in fortune they 
would not leave him, and so they stayed on for years. 



Poteet still lives as do many of his progeny. Poteet is the 
possessor of a crop of snowy wool and has achieved to much 
dignity and honor among his brethren. He is a grand supreme 
master of this lodge and magnificent potentate of another, 
he has quite a store of this world's goods, and can still talk 
his native tongue. He is way past a century, and if you care 
to make the short trip, just take a car to the suburb of Crigh- 
ton and inquire for Poteet. Anybody there will direct you. 
He is the Last Slave. 




IF'^ "i 



.aC^' 



Court House, Mobile 



51 




AN EPIC OF THE SEA 

Oh, sing a song of a summer sea 

And the Jove of a man and maid, 
When the God of Things As They Ought To Be 

A curious prank had played. 
How the sea arose in a howling storm 

And caught those twain in his maw. 
But married them safe in the early morn 

And punished a father-in-law. 

■ — Songs of the Gulf 

To bring to an end these little tales, it has been thought 
best to reserve for the last the strangest of them all, which 
concerns itself with the love of a man and a maid, which has 
ever been the most popular of all writings of either fact or 
fiction. 

Not so many years ago there lived in Mobile a young fellow 
who had since boyhood decided to follow the sea, and to this 
end he studied navigation with such good effect that when but 
twenty-three he was the first officer of a coastwise vessel of 
no mean tonnage. A captain's billet was one of his ambitions, 
but he also fostered another, and that was to marry a decidedly 
lovely Mobile girl, whose family were much better off finan- 
cially than that of the young sailor, who had naught but what 
he earned. The young woman's family frowned on his suit. 



52 



However, when he had reached the rank of first officer, with 
good prospects of commanding a vessel of his own, he went to 
the young woman's father and formally asked for her hand. 
The father merely laughed at him and told him not to aspire 
too high, but to look among his own class. There are some 
very proud families in Mobile. 

No matter what precautions were taken by the parents of 
the young woman, however, they could not keeptheloversapart 
while the young officer was ashore. Secret trysts were kept 
and lovers' vows exchanged, as well as ardent kisses, which 
are more dangerous than dynamite in such circumstances. 
John Graham, the father of the maid, knowing these things 
to be going on, set a watch on his daughter and one day in 
beautiful Monroe Park, which looks out over Mobile Bay, 
he surprised the two embracing in a secluded spot. 

Mr. Graham (who, by the way, is not Mr. Graham at all) 
was extremely displeased and took his daughter home with 
him, after soundly berating the young fellow, whom we shall 
call Robert Brown, for what he conceived to be his outrageous 
conduct. The following day Robert called upon Mr. Graham 
and, after reminding him that he was a man of honor, and of 
respectable parents, said that he intended to marry his 
daughter Helen if he had to force the doors of Hades to obtain 
her. To Robert the doors of Mr. Graham's house were much 
like the doors of Hades, because they swallowed up Helen and 
he dared not follow her in. 

"You get to sea, young man, and mind your business. 
Concern yourself with helms, not Helens, with mariners and 
not marriages. " This was John Graham's dismissal. 

"To sea 1 will go," said young Robert, "but I warn you 
that the sea to which you send me and which takes me away 
from Helen, will give her back to me. Of that I am sure, as 
I dreamed it several times of late and my dreams always 
come true. " 

"Tush and nonsense! Make yourself scarce," replied old 
man Graham, and he shoved Robert, with very little ceremony, 
the nearest way out. 

At the same time Mr Graham was a little bit worried 
about the affair. The line on which Robert was employed 



53 



only ran to near-by points and the young fellow was frequently 
in port. Helen was in open revolt against her father and 
declared she would see Robert whenever opportunity offered. 
The days had gone by when fathers could lock their daughters 
up in towers, so Mr. Graham decided to use strategy. 

Having considerable influence in a commercial way, he 
went to some of his friends who held stock in the line and had 
Robert transferred to a vessel which went to far South 
American ports and was absent for several months at a time. 
This meant an increase of pay to Robert, which delighted 
him greatly until he happened to remember how it would 
separate him for so long from his beloved Helen. 

Returning from the first voyage, which had kept him away 
for several months, Robert and Helen decided to brave the 
parental anger and marry secretly, and they very nearly 
succeeded, the irate Mr. Graham getting over to Bay Minette 
just in time to stop the ceremony, much to the discomfiture 
of the young couple and the chagrin of the judge, who expected 
a good fee. The next day Robert put to sea. 

The longer the old gentleman reflected on this seemingly 
unappeasable passion of his daughter and the young officer, 
the more he was convinced he must take some drastic means 
to prevent them meeting again, or he was sure the mischief 
would be irremediably accomplished. As the days drew nearer 
when Robert would again be in port, the father arrived at a 
sudden decision, A steamer was leaving for Europe in two 
days and he decided to take it and his daughter Helen with 
him. By travel he figured she might learn to forget her silly 
romance. Protesting with every fiber of her being, Helen 
went aboard and she and her father set sail for Europe. At 
this same moment Robert's vessel was ploughing its way up 
the South American coast, homeward bound. 

When the vessel containing Mr. Graham and his daughter 
entered the western end of the Yucatan channel, the one of 
which Robert was an officer entered the eastern end of this 
treacherous strait. 

As everyone knows it is hereabout that the most cyclonic 
storms are born, which afterward sweep up the gulf and lay 
low great cities. The Fates were busy that day. A low sky 



54 



overhung the channel and there was a driving rain. Then the 
wind began to rise, and in a short time it was howHng a 
hurricane. It grew black as night and the watch could not 
see a hundred yards ahead. Then suddenly out of the storm 
loomed on the Graham boat's quarter a huge shadow bearing 
down on it with the speed of doom. Too late was it seen from 
the deck, and too late had the oncoming vessel perceived the 
boat in its path. There was a sickening crash, a splintering of 
wood and tearing of steel plates, shouts, and lights, and the 
launching of boats. The sea was running mountain high and 
some of the boats were smashed to kindling against the 
heaving sides of the vessels. Helen, who was being lowered 
into a boat, by means of a rope, looked into the very jaws of 
death, when the rope parted and threw her into the sea. In 
a twinkling she was swept away and, it was believed, lost. 

Now it so happened that the powers that wait on lovers' 
needs were also abroad that night, and as Robert's boat put 
its nose into a wave, he saw clinging to a spar the form of a 
woman, half dead. As the boat swept by the spar he reached 
out and grabbed her by the hair. It was too dark in the boat 
for recognition and haste was necessary, as both vessels were 
sinking and they feared being drawn into the vortex. 
All night the storm raged and all night the men in the boat 
labored with the oars to keep her head to the sea. Then with 
the coming of morning, the storm broke and the sea began to 
go down. The bundle of sodden misery which Robert had 
rescued from the sea stirred slightly and he made his way to 
her to reassure her. She looked up at him. 

"Robert! ' she cried. "Am I dreaming.?" 

"Helen, my sweetheart!" said Robert, stricken with amaze- 
ment and joy. 

You may well imagine the scene, which, while it was a taste 
of heaven to the lovers, was most amusing to the sailors, who 
now that they felt safe could once again afford to smile. But 
Robert was not displeased. He openly and brazenly hugged 
his Helen to his heart's content and let the opinion of his 
companions in misery go hang. The next day they made their 
way to a Cuban port and shortly after landing, that is to say 
about five minutes afterward, Robert and Helen stood in the 



55 



presence of a Spanish padre, and demanded to be married 
forthwith. At this very moment a ship was putting into the 
roadstead. A boat put out for shore and from it stepped John 
Graham. He was stricken with sorrow, fearing his daughter 
was lost and holding his austere treatment of her wholly 
responsible. While he did not want her to marry Robert 
he would ten thousand times have seen her his bride rather 
than she lose her life. 

On his way to an inn he passed an old church, and just as 
he was passing, a miracle also came to pass. Out of the door 
issued Robert and on his still wet and soiled arm was the most 
radiant Helen he had ever beheld. Her face shone with a new 
glory and at first he could scarcely believe his senses. But 
Robert, strong in his love and his right of possession, said 
"Hello, father mine, this is Mrs. Brown. When did you get 
in?" 

"Helen, my daughter. God be praised, because this night 
I have been through hell itself at the thought of your loss." 

"Father, I know you will forgive us. Robert doesn't look 
very well just now, but he'll be the handsomest man in the 
West Indies when he gets a change of clothes." 

"I told you my dreams always came true, Mr. Graham," 
said Robert. "The sea took me away from Helen and it has 
handed her back to me, back on the wings of a storm, a 
present from the deep. " 

"1 suppose," said Mr. Graham, "I will have to say the 
usual 'God bless you, my children,' and He alone knows how 
glad 1 am of the chance. " 

Now that was some years ago. Mr. Brown has prospered 
outrageously of late and has made much money in ships, 
not by working on them, but by buying and selling them. The 
great war was his opportunity, and he has made the best of it. 
For the rest there are quite a few little Browns running around 
in the neighborhood of Bienville Square, and old John Graham 
usually has one of them in tow. You may perchance meet 
them some day, but as you were told at first his name is not 
Graham and the children's name is anything but Brown. It 
is a much longer name. 









I M 



h ^ 



£•_„.„. 



MODERN MOBILE 



The present day Mobile is a modern, energetic, commercial 
metropolis with a foreign trade that makes it a port of the 
first magnitude. It is a city that is always interesting to the 
tourist. Though modern and up-to-date, it still retains an 
atmosphere of the romantic days of the long ago. It was 
founded in 1699 by Bienville, who raised the French standard 
on Mobile's bay shore and planted a settlement there, and 
for a long time Mobile was the capital of the French Colony 
of Louisiana. Its existence has since then been varied and it 
has lived under five flags— French, English, Spanish, Con- 
federate, and American, and it, in a sense, has kept the essence 
of them all. 

Mobile is the second largest city in Alabama, having a 
population of 60, 1 5 1 according to the 1 920 census, and is the 
only seaport in the state, located on the west bank of the 
Mobile river, where it empties into Mobile bay thirty miles 
from the Gulf of Mexico. The Mobile river is a stream of 
much consequence, formed by the Alabama and Tombigbee 
rivers which flow through lands rich in cotton, mineral, and 
timber resources, and these products have for years found 
their way downstream to Mobile. 



57 



During the last few years, the shipbuilding industry has 
developed to wonderful proportions in Mobile, due largely to 
its favorable location, natural harbor, and close proximity to 
the Gulf and to the enterprise of its inhabitants. 

The broad, shaded avenues, fine old homes, substantial build- 
ings, and busy streets, testify to the wealth, taste, refinement, 
and high ideals of its citizens. Beautiful parks, and boule- 
vards, and a climate which permits the enjoyment of outdoor 
life at all seasons naturally calls everyone into the open. The 
city lies along the shore of the bay and is backed by forest- 
crowned hills — a suitable background for a beautiful city. There 
is a wonderful old shell road along rising banks of the bay shore, 
winding under great oak and magnolia trees, with the shining 
water glistening in the distance — ^a delight to the motorist. 

Water excursions are always interesting; to the many popu- 
lar resorts in Baldwin county, along the eastern shore of the 
bay — Fairhope, Daphne, Battles Wharf, Point Clear, etc., to 
Magnolia Springs on the Magnolia river, to Ft. Morgan or 
the "snapper banks." 

The fisherman is in his element around Mobile; good 
fishing, both fresh and salt water varieties, is found in the 
bay, the countless bayous and lakes in the Delta above the 
city and the numerous clear running streams in the vicinity, 
and the hunter will find plenty of opportunity to test his skill. 

One of the annual winter attractions at Mobile is the 
Mardi Gras celebration, which is very creditable, and entered 
into in the whole hearted spirit that characterizes Mobile in 
all its undertakings. 

Mobile is well supplied with fine hotels, while town and 
country clubs offer typical southern hospitality to visitors 
properly introduced, and such visitors are entertained after 
the manner of the Southern chivalric code. Mobile has always 
prided herself on her elegant and boundless hospitality and 
visitors are not disappointed in this respect. The new 
Country Club grounds consist of 280 acres and include an 
18-hole golf course, lake, tennis courts, swimming pool, etc. 

Electric cars reach all parts of the city and environs, making 
nearby resorts easy of access, and for those of greater distance 
down the bay there is convenient railroad and steamer service. 



58 




Shell Road Along the Gulf Coast 

THE GULF COAST 

Every visitor to Mobile should avail himself of his close 
proximity to the beautiful Gulf Coast resorts and visit those 
delightful places, situated but a short distance away, on the 
line of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, and quickly and 
conveniently reached in a few hours. 

A more charmingly picturesque country than this, or gayer 
scenes than those presented at these resorts which stretch 
continuously for fifty miles along the Coast, would be hard to 
imagine. 

It is a real playground, summer or winter — a playground 
for northern folk from November to May, and for Southrons 
during the summer months. You can't ask for much more of 
placid nature than has been here expended. There are pine 
woods, forests of live oaks, all moss hung and mysterious, 
long stretches of winding, shaded roads, woodland paths, 
quaint southern hamlets and modern resorts teeming with 
gayety and active life; lovely retreats where you can swing in 
a hammock all day and drowse in the narcotic air. And there 
is the sparkling water, the beach, the surf, boating, fishing — 
anything and everything that calls from the salt waterside. 



59 



Going south on the Louisville & Nashville Railroad from 
Mobile, it is impossible to escape the infection of joyous 
living, even if you wanted to do that. At every stop 
throngs of people are going and coming — youth and age alike, 
getting on or off the trains. Laughter and breezy, sunny, 
fragrant air greet you. It is moreover a place of sane, natural 
outdoor joys in surroundings of homely comfort or of luxurious 
ease, whichever you prefer. It is a locality of ancient and 
honorable traditions and the natives are descended from 
holders of the soil since the first days of the white settler. 
They make you welcome with a stately, southern hospitality, 
and have put at your disposal the best their home land affords. 
Every resort and every old plantation home is shaded by 
age-old ancestral oaks and grown over with trailing vines, 
roses and perennials; and they all look out over the gulf waters, 
at the dancing waves, the scudding sails, the beach and the 
surf. No choicer spot exists and greater comfort is not to be 
found. The winter climate is ideal, not uncomfortably warm, 
but moderate and bracing, putting snap and ginger into the 
system. 

History lends its background of fact to a long list of interest- 
ing tradition and romantic legends concerning this locality. 




Fishing Party on Mississippi Sound Off the Gulf Coast 



60 




The Gulf Coast Section Is the Sportsman's Paradise 

and the "atmosphere," while wholly American, has the foreign 
flavor in sufficient degree to give it diversity and variety. 
Topographically, the coast lies low and curving, rising gently 
toward the hinterland, which is forested with pines, broken in 
the clearings, by rich and productive farm lands. The shore 
line is much indented, the numerous bays, "bayous," "sounds" 
and lakes giving a seemingly endless and all-surrounding 
waterscape. Lying off the shore is a line of islands, forming 
the outer bulwark of Mississippi Sound, and fronting this are 
the resorts that have been famous since pre-revolutionary 
days — the towns which began as settlements of the early 
explorers and fortifications of the French colonies, begun under 
the brothers de Bienville and d' Iberville. 

The best known of the resorts along the Coast, west of 
Mobile, are Pascagoula, Ocean Springs, Biloxi, Mississippi 
City, Gulfport, Pass Christian and Bay St. Louis. Pensacola, 
to the southeast of Mobile about one hundred miles, is also 
located practically on the Gulf and is a most charming resort 
and a commercial center of considerable importance. These 
resorts are described in detail in folder entitled "The Gulf 
Coast ' published by the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, a 
copy of which will be furnished free to those writing for it 
to any of the representatives listed on page 63. 



61 



A feature of travel on trains of the Louisville & Nashville R^R. is the excel- 
lence of its Dining Car Service. All meals a la carte, 
and the cuisine is unsurpassed. 



EN ROUTE TO MOBILE 

The Louisville & Nashville Railroad, with its connections, 
operates through steel trains from Chicago, St. Louis, Cincin- 
nati, Louisville, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Wash- 
ington, Jacksonville, Fla., New Orleans and intermediate ter- 
ritory to Mobile and the various resorts on the Gulf Coast. 
The schedules are fast and convenient and the roadbed and track 
are as substantial and smooth as of any line in the country. 

These trains are all modern and up-to-date in every par- 
ticular, and are sumptuously equipped with all facilities 
tending toward the comfort and convenience of passengers, 
carrying through electric-lighted drawing-room sleepers, 
coaches, reclining chair cars, etc. Dining car service on all 
through trains that is not surpassed anywhere. 

Intending travelers are invited to communicate freely with 
representatives shown on the following page. They will 
gladly provide information in regard to Louisville & Nash- 
ville Railroad service, schedules, fares, etc., secure sleeping 
car reservations, and render assistance in any way possible. 



62 



For information relating to Louisville & Nashville Railroad 
service, fares, schedules, sleeping car reservations, etc., com- 
municate with any of the following passenger representatives: 



ATLANTA. GA 

BIRMINGHAM. ALA 

CHICAGO. ILL 

CINCINNATI, OHIO 



CLEVELAND, OHIO 
DALLAS. TEXAS . . 
DETROIT, MICH . 
EVANS VILLE, IND . 



HOUSTON, TEXAS 



INDIANAPOLIS, IND 
JACKSONVILLE, FLA 



KANSAS CITY, MO. 
KNOXVILLE. TENN 



LEXINGTON, KY. 
LOUISVILLE, KY. 



MEMPHIS. TENN 



MINNEAPOLIS. MINN 

MOBILE, ALA 



MONTGOMERY, ALA 
NASHVILLE. TENN . . 

NEW ORLEANS, LA . 

NEW YORK. N. Y 

OWENSBORO, KY 

PENSACOLA, FLA 



PITTSBURGH. PA. . 
RUSSELLVILLE. KY 
ST. LOUIS, MO. . .. 



SELMA, ALA 

TUSCALOOSA, ALA. 



H. C. Bailey, Division Passenger Agent 722 Hoalcv Bldg. 

B. L. Butler. City Passenger Agent 722 Hcalcv Bldg. 

A. C. Northern, Joint City Ticltet Agent 46 North Broad" Street 

T. F. Lawrence, Ticket Agent Union Depot 

J. H. Settle Division Passenger Agent 

I. N. Atkinson, Agent Joint City Ticket Office. . . . 2010 First Avenue 

C. W. Coleman. Ticket Agent Union Depot 

P. W. Morrow. N.-W. Passenger Agent 332 Marquette Bldg 

Tyndall Ball, Traveling Passenger Agent 332 Marcjuette Bldg. 

C". C. Case, City Passenger Agent 332 Marquette Bldg. 

F. D. Bush, Division Passenger Agent 615 Union Central Bldg. 

J. H. (iENTRY. Traveling Passenger Agent.. . .615 Union Central Bldg. 

A. J. Anzer, City Passenger Agent 615 Union Central Bldg. 

J. M. MiNTURN, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office 6th and Main 

J. E. Pendery, Ticket Agent Pearl and liutlcr stn'ots 

J. F. Rolf, Ticket Agent Central Union Station 

J. I. Zempke, Traveling Passenger Agent 706 Hippodrunio Bldg. 

T. H. KiNGSLEY, Traveling Pass. Agent, 703 Creat Southern Life Bldg. 
H. E. Porter, Traveling Passenger Agent 605 Fres Press Bldg. 

D. C. McOehee, Traveling Passenger Agent First and Main 

W. J. Mann, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office First and Main 

N. A. Littlepage, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 

L. N. SIMMS, Traveling Passenger Agent 202 Scanlan Bldg. 

Jack Gauntt, Passenger Agent 202 Scanlan Bldg. 

H. M. Mounts, Traveling Passenger Agent, 310 Merchants Bank Bldg. 

H. C. Bretney, Florida Passenger Agent 134 West Bav Street 

H. S. Ellis, Traveling Passenger Agent 134 West Bay Street 

F. M. Ditto, Traveling Pass'r Agent. . . .418 Railway Exchange Bldg. 

D. S. Chandler, District Passenger Agent Farragut Hotel 

L. A. BiNKLEY, City Ticket Agent Farragut Hotel 

J. A. Baker, Ticket Agent L. «fe N. Station 

F. B. Carr, General Agent Union Station 

W. H. Harrison, Traveling Passenger Agent Union Station 

E. J. TEED, Joint Ticket Agent Union Station 

Milton Smith Assistant General Passenger Agent 

C. J. LiEBER Assistant General Passenger Agent 

J. H. Milliken District Passenger Agent 

E. G. Jones, City Passenger Agent 204 Marion E. Taylor Bldg. 

F. T. Alexander, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office, 4th and Market 

R. F. Penn, Ticket Agent Union Station 

J. S. Younger, Ticket Agent Baxter Avenue Station 

C;. B. McClean, Dist. Pass'r Agt., 1504 Union and Planters Bank Bldg. 
Roy Sutton, Agent Joint City Ticket Office 60 North Main 

E. A. Gaulding, Ticket Agent Calhoun Street Station 

.H. L. Sweeney, Traveling Pass'r Agent, 633 Metropolitan Life Bldg. 

H. C. Geron, City Passenger Agent 63 Conti Street 

G. W. King, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office, 51 South Roval Street 

F. J. MuRPHREE, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 

.W. M. Hays, Traveling Pass'r Agent, 601 First National Bank Bldg. 

F. M. Harbin, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office Exchange Hotel 

S. T. SURATT, Ticket Agent Union Depot 

R. C. Wallis, District Passenger Agent. .Fourth and Church Streets 

I- M • O'Brien City Passenger Agent 

\V . M. Hunt, Agent Consolidated Ticket Office. Independent Life Bldg 

W. B. Reynolds, Ticket Agent Union station 

J. K. Ridgely, General Passenger Agent, 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 

E. C. Runte, District Passenger Agent 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 

R. C. DUTRUCH, City Passenger Agent 1413 Whitney Bank Bldg. 

J. E. Lambert, Agent Joint City Ticket Office St. Charles Hotel 

J. B. Michel, Ticket Agent L. & N. Depot 

IRA F. ScHWEGEL, Eastern Passenger Agent 

609 Knickerbocker Bldg. Broadway and 42nd Street 
c;lark Dunn, Traveling Passenger Agent. . . 609 Knickerbocker Bldg. 

W. C. Huston Division Passenger Agent 

S. H. Burke. District Passenger Agent San Carlos Hotel Bldg. 

James M. Wickstead. City Ticket Agent San Carlos Hotel Bldg. 

(". M. Kelly, Ticket Agent L. & N. Station 

J. R. Almand, Traveling Passenger Agent . . . 402 No. 230 Fifth Avenue 

Wm. Bryan Traveling Pa.sscngcr Agent 

Geo. E. Herring, Division Pass'r Agent. . 1206 Boatnicn'.s Bank Bldg 
Cj. U. Yager. City Passenger Agent 1206 Boatinon'.s Bank Bldg 

F. W. Schwaneck, City Ticket Agent 318 North Broadway 

A. C. Barnett. Ticket Agent Union station 

J. S. Stallings Passenger .Agent 

Geo. C:. Miller Pas.senger and Ticket Agent 



W. A. RUSSELL, R, D. PUSEY, 

Passenger Traffic Manager General Passenger Agent 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 



63 




Map Showing the Lines of the Louisville & Nashville Railroad, the Logical Route to Mobile 



POOLE BROS. CHICAGO. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 



I 



014 540 364 9 



